


Cold Warmth

by yuffiehighwind



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew and Warren have trouble hiding their relationship from Jonathan, and trouble knowing what their relationship even means to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some indeterminate time between S6 Ep13 "Dead Things" and S6 Ep19 "Seeing Red."

Sunlight slipped its way between the curtains of Andrew's room. The orange beam contrasted sharply with the blue Star Wars designs, but the light was undaunted and so, like curious fingers, it caressed the boy's spiky morning hair. The boy's hand emerged from the blue sheets - also Star Wars - to block his eyes from the rays, and he stirred awake. His other arm flopped to his right to feel the place beside him. Finding nothing - or rather, no one - he groggily sat up and rubbed his eyes. Frowning, he looked around. He was alone.

 _Of course no one's here, stupid_ , he thought to himself. His roommate Jonathan was never in the room anymore. The budding wizard stayed up all night studying magics, or as he'd recently done, slept somewhere else altogether. If he stayed there, he got up at dawn. And Warren....

It would be a miracle if Warren ever stayed in bed until Andrew woke. This fact made Andrew's stomach ache, along with everything else that bothered him about the older boy. But it served no purpose to think about what motivated Warren, so he pushed the feeling down to his toes and tried to forget.

Andrew got up and wandered into the bigger room of the "Lair" and headed for the bathroom to shower. In the beginning, the "takeover" of Sunnydale had been fun. Before they began to run out of money and general motivation. Before people started getting hurt. Before Katrina was killed.

But there was a thrill to the whole scheme. _It'll be all right_ , Warren insisted. He reminded Andrew daily that they'd have everything they ever wanted, dreamed, or wished. It'd be _Easy Street_ once the _plan_ was completed. Andrew was never quite sure what the plan entailed. Warren seemed to make it up as he went along. But Andrew listened and followed anyway. _He knows what he's doing_ a voice in his head insisted. Over time doubt crept in, and so that voice became less and less sounding like his own. 

But that was all pushed _deep_ down past his toes and rammed into the earth that day he and Warren's entire relationship had changed. 

Andrew sharply inhaled as the cold water of the shower hit him. The water grew warm, but the cold felt good in a way the warmth never could. It was like the icy cold of reality, waking him up. But just as it would start to seep in, Warren would too, warming up the cold truth with his words, his promises, his lips...

Andrew tried not to think of that day. He tried not to think at all as he washed the sleep out of his eyes, the grease from his hair, and the sweat from his skin. He tried to think of Star Trek. Yeah, Star Trek. Wormholes, space anomalies, the final frontier, but all he could think of was how cute Lieutenant Riker seemed, even for an older guy. No, no, it's not true, it can't be. Think of 7 of 9. Jeri Ryan's hot, isn't she? From more than an aesthetic, I-want-to-look-like-her viewpoint? Final frontier, indeed. 

Andrew blasted the cold water. Cold. Cold was real. But cold was also Warren. The real Warren. The Warren that didn't smile at you like you were the only thing that mattered. The Warren that didn't stroke your hair and tell you how soft it was, how soft you were. The Warren you didn't feel inside you last night. The Warren that glares at you when you talk about things like Star Trek. The Warren that snaps at you when you whine. The Warren who smacks you when you screw up. 

Cold. 

Andrew shivered. 

Turning off the water, he dried off and got dressed. Going into the living room, he sat down on the couch in front of the TV. What time was it? Ten in the morning. The others hadn't bothered to wake him up. Had something happened? Or was it just a down day? Maybe the Slayer took a vacation. Maybe Jonathan was out doing something. Maybe he was with...

 _No, don't think about that._ What had Warren said? _He said we'd be together. Just the two of us._ As in without Jonathan. 

As if on cue, he walked in through the door. 

"Hey, Jonathan," Andrew called. 

The boy waved and shuffled around the huge paper bags in his arms so he could place them on the table. Grocery shopping. In the world of spying and crime, Andrew had almost forgotten about such an ordinary thing as grocery shopping.

"Whatcha got, there? Something magic?" he asked anyway.

"Food. You do eat food, right?" Jonathan responded. _Was that a jibe at my weight?_ A hundred and twenty pounds wasn't too skinny. 

"Of course I do, jawa breath," Andrew huffed, rolling his eyes. "What kind of food?"

"Bread, peanut butter, cereal, milk, vegetables. All the things Warren doesn't keep in the refrigerator. Man can't live on Poptarts and Twinkies alone."

Andrew got up and looked through the foods Jonathan was laying out on the table. "Eww, asparagus?"

Jonathan glared. "No one said you had to eat it."

Andrew took out the rest of the items. "Hey, you got pickles. And ice cream. What are you, pregnant? Who's the lucky father?"

Punches were thrown, and a scuffle started. The stairs creaked and Warren appeared.

"Hey, guys, don't go postal now."

Andrew looked up and wriggled away from Jonathan's surprisingly firm grasp. "Warren!" He struggled not to sound too happy to see him. Jonathan didn't know about them.

The shorter boy ignored Warren and put the rest of the food away. Andrew took the opportunity of his back being turned to quickly peck him on the lips. The older boy did not protest. 

"I don't get any greeting from Frodo?" Warren complained.

Jonathan suppressed a scowl. "I was putting away this stuff."

"Where were you?" Andrew asked, tugging on his sleeve. Noticing the sad look, Warren could read the boy's actual question. _Why weren't you by my side this morning? You promised last time..._  

"I...uh...I had some things to do." He was vague as all hell. Always. In a lower voice as lined with affection as he could muster, he continued, "I didn't have the heart to wake you up. You look so cute when you're asleep." Cute and quiet and cooperating. Andrew smiled adoringly, though he _knew_ below the surface, in that ache in his gut that this was just another of Warren's lines. Just another trick to keep him in line. But it felt too good to be a trick. Too warm.

Now Jonathan was turned around and looking at the two suspiciously. "You look cozy," he snorted. "What's going on?"

Warren backed away from Andrew, and put on the other smile he'd developed so well. The smile of innocence. "Nothing's going on, Shortstuff. Fix us up some breakfast."

Warren ruffled Jonathan's hair, winked at Andrew, and left the room. 

Jonathan shook his head and went about to cooking some eggs and toast. Andrew made some idle conversation with the other boy for several minutes, then slipped out of the room. He found Warren in the bedroom, sitting and writing in a notebook. _He kept a notebook? Since when?_ He wrapped his arms around the older boy's waist and looked over his shoulder. "Whatcha writing?"

Warren froze, and the notebook slammed shut. _Was my name in there?_ Andrew pushed the thought away. "Just a sort of diary," said Warren. It was true. It was a diary. He planned on burning it one of these days, but with all these conflicting thoughts swimming in his head it helped to write it all down. Sometimes it felt like a bloody mess of death, deceit, and longing. Longing for something better. Longing for the days before Katrina left.

Warren disentangled himself from Andrew's embrace and stood up. He looked at the younger boy, who was looking up adoringly at him. How could he lie to that face? Easily. 

"Get up," he said. Andrew did as he was told. _He's like a puppy,_ Warren thought. _A poor, adorable little lost puppy that will do anything for me._ Andrew leaned in close and melted into the older boy's arms. Warren gently stroked his face and leaned in to kiss him. Softly at first, then harder. The first time they'd kissed it had been a bad mesh of tongues and teeth. Each time was like practice, the kisses getting better and better. They knew where to go, now. Where to touch, how hard or soft, when to breathe. How long had they been like this, now? A month? Longer? Only a day? Years and years, maybe. 

 _It wasn't supposed to be like this,_ Warren thought, grasping at Andrew's shirt, at his pants. _Not like this. Never like this. I'm not like this. I don't like this. It's just an act. All an act. Just an act._ Of course, this wasn't true, not at all. This boy who succumbed so easily to his charms and then to his whims was enticing. Even beautiful, if you looked close. _My God, he's so fucking beautiful._ It was all supposed to be a game. A ploy. Give him a line. Just a line. Not the whole damn package. But, God, did it feel. so. good.

Andrew placed a hand on the side of Warren's face, caressing his ear. He leaned in to the other ear and took the lobe in his mouth and sucked. Warren suppressed a moan as Andrew licked the entire edge of his ear, slowly, because that's how Warren liked things. Starting slow, followed up by blinding swift, harsh heat. Warmth.

It may have been how Warren liked doing things, but it was not how he liked things done to him. Teasing and tantalizing reminded him of that Katrina. _Smug bitch, thought she could use me...use me...abuse me...leave me...like I'll use him...leave him...she's gone...she'll never get to laugh at my stupid jokes, or cry during a sad movie...she'll never get to do anything ever again._ It's what drove him with Andrew that first time and all the nights after that. The drive and the need to forget. Forget what he was, what he'd done. Feel those feelings again. Love. _Is this love?_ Feel that warmth. Forget the cold. Forget the loss. Forget the guilt. Forget Katrina.

Warren's hands roamed down Andrew's back and up his shirt. He massaged the younger boy's back and trailed circles along it. Andrew giggled into Warren's neck and kissed along it. His hands wandered further south and grabbed Andrew's ass. The younger boy gasped at the movement and wriggled in closer. He could feel Warren's hardness against his own, through his khakis. The older boy pushed closer to the other and both their breath quickened at the sensation. 

Suddenly, Jonathan's nasally voice called out from the other room announcing that breakfast was ready.

Not wanting to let go, Andrew retook Warren's lips in a desperate kiss.

"I said breakfast was ready!" Jonathan called again. Faint grumbling followed. "I'm gonna eat it all myself, then! None will be left!"

The kiss ended, and Warren pushed Andrew away, first faintly, then harder. Andrew stumbled back and almost fell to the bed. He noticed Warren's hands were shaking, and it was clear he was excited by more than the prospect of breakfast. Andrew slowed his breathing and adjusted his clothes. He tried to think of Star Trek again. And the shower. And 7 of 9. Cold. No, don't think that. Think eggs, and bacon, and pickles and ice cream. Did they even have bacon? If they had any, could Jonathan even cook it? Non-sexual thoughts. Non-Warren's-tongue-in-his-mouth and hand-on-his-ass thoughts. The two calmed themselves down and headed into the living room. They were red and flustered and having a difficult time turning themselves off. Jonathan _had to_ know, he just had to. If he didn't, he was the dumbest, most unperceptive creature on the face of the Earth. Or expertly skilled at denial.

If Jonathan knew at all, his expression didn't betray it. He chomped on his breakfast with barely a glance at the others, only looking up to grab the salt. Andrew grabbed a plate, shoveled food onto it, and sat down. Warren, hands still shaking, which never happened, not even after hours of being with Andrew, stared at the eggs and toast for several minutes before reaching for it. The trio sat in silence as they ate, until Andrew broached the subject of the James Bonds again. An argument ensued, and it was as though nothing out of the ordinary happened. No death. No secret trysts. Nothing but three guys hanging out having eggs and toast and talking about geeky stuff. 

After a while, feeling better having ate, Andrew got up to grab some more toast, but he noticed, to his distaste, that it was cold. Reality hit for an instant, and Andrew closed his eyes and tried not to think, not to breathe, not to cry. 

Warren chose this second to walk over and casually rest a warm hand on his arm. 

He pointed to the toast. "Want me to heat those up?"


End file.
